The Preacher's Wife
Chapter 3
"Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes and clever in their own sight."Isaiah 5:21
Thursday morning
Matt Dillon was a deeply spiritual man, with an unwavering belief that mankind was served by a just higher power. He knew the Bible well, and being a man of few words and bottom lines, had decided that the entire book could be condensed into one sentence—"Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you." There had been few days when he had not lived his life according to the Golden Rule.
Matt was also a very private man—one who was uncomfortable putting his faith on public display and felt no need for spiritual guidance from anyone but his maker. He accepted, as Chester had once told him, that he had this God-given talent for protecting people and serious responsibilities that came with it. He figured that the same God who had entrusted him with these abilities surely had also given him the good sense to know how to use them. He had nothing but respect for sincere churchgoing people, he just happened to not be one of them.
Matt's one and only conversation with the Reverend Frederick Wright—the day his wife was making her one and only friend in Dodge—had been a memorable one. Walking into the U.S. Marshal's office wearing an immaculate suit and carrying his Bible, Matt found the man's smug manner in keeping with the reputation that preceded him. He had not been in town for long, but word was already spreading about the new pastor.
Frederick's business with the Marshal was simple: he had been sent by God to clean up Dodge City and needed his help. Matt politely explained that City Council passed the laws and he enforced them. If the Reverend didn't like the laws that existed, it was his right—as it was every citizen's—to follow the legal procedure required to get them changed. That involved collecting enough signatures to bring the laws in question to a vote.
From there, the conversation had taken a turn for the worse. The Reverend Doctor Wright, as he had introduced himself, requested Matt's assistance in collecting signatures and persuading citizens to support his mission. Matt had refused, saying it was not his business or inclination to mix religion and politics. Matt was as even tempered as they come, but this man would test the patience of Job. After a terse exchange with voices raised, the pastor had left the Marshal's office quite unsatisfied, but no less determined.
It was thus not the most welcome of news when Chester looked out the window Thursday morning and told Matt that the preacher's buggy had just stopped in front of the office. His wife stepped down carrying a shopping sack, and Chester saw her walking toward the General Store as Frederick Wright headed their way.
Matt had no idea what he wanted now but was determined not to lose his temper this time. His opinion of The Reverend had only gotten less favorable since their first meeting. For one thing, it stuck in his craw that the man's wife had to hide her friendship with Kitty. He knew there would always be people who disapproved of Kitty, but it would never stop bothering him. Especially when the man sitting in judgment of her was as odious as this one.
Ever the professional, Matt greeted Frederick Wright with a pleasant tone. "Good Morning, Reverend. What can I do for you today?"
"Good morning, Marshal," he returned. He was wearing another impressive suit, and Matt was beginning to wonder if that Bible was somehow stuck to his hand.
"I was hoping you had a few minutes to discuss a private matter," Frederick began, shooting a look at Chester like he was an ant colony at a picnic.
"Certainly," Matt replied. "Chester, can you go to the Post Office and see if those new wanted posters came in?"
"Sure Mister Dillon," Chester replied, looking suspiciously at the pastor as he left for his unnecessary errand.
Matt motioned for Frederick to take the seat across from him. Frederick wasted no time in getting to the point. "Marshal, I'm sure you are aware that I have been attempting to collect signatures to have drinking and gambling eradicated from this town."
Matt was all too aware of that fact. Frederick had been able to recruit only a couple of zealots from his own congregation in the effort—two older women who were famous town gossips and moral authorities—and they had been a constant nuisance ever since.
"How's that working out for you?" Matt deadpanned.
"Not as well as I had hoped," he replied, "though I'm sure you already knew that."
"What exactly can I help you with, Reverend?" Matt asked, already starting to get annoyed.
"Here is my dilemma, Marshal," he started. "The people of this town have a very high opinion of you. They tell me that you restored law and order here when no one else could, that they are safe to walk the streets because of you. They are very grateful. You seem to be some sort of hero to them."
"And this is a dilemma?" Matt asked sarcastically.
"As I told you during our first meeting, God has charged me with the task of ridding this city of legalized sin", he replied. "I have found that to be nearly impossible when the town hero supports these activities."
"Look Reverend, we've been over this," Matt said, sighing. "My job is to enforce the law, and that is what I do. My personal feelings about those laws are inconsequential."
"Oh, but you're wrong Marshal," Frederick said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "I believe there are a lot of people who would be interested in knowing just how much your personal feelings have to do with the law in this town."
Matt had no idea what he was talking about, but he was getting angrier by the minute.
"I learned a few things from my father's experience in Lawrence," he continued. Certain operations seem to exist 'at the Law's discretion,' am I right?" he asked.
"Exactly what are you getting at?" Matt demanded.
"The saloon girls," he continued, sounding as if merely speaking the term had left a nasty taste in his mouth. "Surely you are aware that they are often paid for more than dancing skills and sparkling conversation. And I suppose you could overlook that, for the right price."
Keeping order in a town overrun with gunfights, brawls, robberies, and murders meant that the smart law man learned to pick his battles. Matt's common sense approach to keeping the peace and respecting the privacy of consenting adults meant that his jail was reserved for the abundance of people who were truly a danger to society.
At Reverend Wright's comment, Matt leapt out of his chair and leaned over the table, getting as close to the pastor's face as physically possible. "Mister, if you are suggesting that I can be bought you are WAY out of line."
"I can't prove that money has changed hands," he replied calmly. "But there are other ways of getting paid—say, sexual favors from the owner of The Long Branch."
Matt glared at him with his best poker face, trying desperately not to show how far his heart has just dropped in his chest. Where did that come from?
"Do you deny that you are fornicating with her?" The Reverend pressed.
"I'm not going to confirm or deny anything that is clearly none of your business," Matt said angrily, louder than he intended.
"I understand now why you were so opposed to helping me," Frederick said. "It would obviously be in Miss Russell's interest to keep drinking and gambling legal here, and to have the Law disinterested in certain extracurricular activities. And it appears she is making it worth your while."
Matt had dealt with the most unsavory of criminals in his history as a law man, but never had he wanted to punch a man's lights out as much as he did at that moment. He had to steady himself to keep from doing something he would regret. Not only was this man falsely attacking his integrity, he was making a loving relationship sound cheap and tawdry.
Matt started to respond but the Reverend was on a roll. "You have a choice to make, Marshal. You can either repent and join my efforts, or suffer the consequences of your own sinful actions."
"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Matt, his eyes narrowing.
"1 Corinthians: 'Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.' I have a sermon written on that verse for Sunday. The pen is mightier than the sword, Marshal. Or in this case perhaps, the gun. As much as I would hate to do it, I believe my congregation has the right to know the truth about the man who calls the shots around here. And I promise you, after I'm done, they will know the difference between a hero and a whoremonger. So will the War Department when I report this corruption."
Matt could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Is that a threat?" he asked, standing up straight and towering a good ten inches over a man he had an overwhelming urge to squash like a cockroach.
"Of course not," Wright responded too nicely. "Please tell me it's not illegal in this town to give a sermon."
Unable to hide his disgust anymore, Matt quickly brushed past him and flung the door open. "I think you'd better go," he said abruptly.
"Good day, Marshall," the pastor responded with a slight nod and smile as he walked out and headed toward the General Store to collect his wife.
By mid afternoon Matt had decided, after biting Chester's head off and curtly refusing Doc's invitation to lunch, that he had to talk to Kitty. As difficult as this conversation would be, they had no secrets.
When he walked into The Long Branch, his stomach in knots, Bill Pence told him she had been in her room since he had gotten there and had asked not to be disturbed. He thanked Bill and bounded up the steps anyway, stopping when he got to her door and pausing before gently knocking.
"Kitty?" he said softly. "Are you in there?"
No answer. He turned the doorknob and it was locked. Knocking harder, he said, "Kitty? Answer me, Honey, I need to know that you're OK."
Finally, a weak voice responded. "I can't talk right now. I need to be alone. Please understand." She sounded as though she had been crying.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did something happen? Are you sick?"
"I'm fine. I'll talk to you later, but not right now. Please respect my wishes, Matt. I beg of you."
He wanted to break the door down and take her in his arms, telling her that whatever was wrong would be alright. He would make it alright. But if there was anything Matt Dillon understood, it was the need to be alone. And the need for other people to respect that.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said gently. "I'll come back later."
He waited for a reply that didn't come. He slowly turned away from the door and made his way back downstairs. Bill Pence gave him the sympathetic look of a man who was aware that something was terribly wrong but knew better than to ask about it.
